Housekeeper

The rain pelts my umbrella, so I make haste to avoid getting drenched before my housekeeper interview. The last home I cleaned I left because there had been too much friction between the husband and wife. I didn’t want to be in the middle, so I quit. When I came across a post online of a wealthy couple looking for a house cleaner, I applied. It’s in an upscale neighborhood and I have a good feeling.

I ring the doorbell and a man answers. In the distance I hear a loud crash, and his face turns wan.

I walk away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Silken Parasol

Elethea needs rest—there is no peace—looking for a place to hide, she's found it. A good deal of space inside the umbrella, so she lay there with her face turned up towards the light. She cannot help but dream as she admires the firefly-lit lantern from the lamppost on the corner. Above all others, it is virtuous in golden light. Down, down, down into the darkness of the silken parasol. So gently it goes as she settles in her bitter bed. Several people walk by, uninterested in her. None of them bother to look in through the silk.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Executive Execution

He said he was blown over, that the breeze from the kitchen door had left him defenseless. But our Lord sees only in black and white. The laws are clear: no dust bunny shall enter another bunny’s land--no exceptions. A silent crowd awaits as the trespasser is dragged into the dimly lit square: thrashing, kicking, pleading. It is pointless. Laws are laws, we must simply obey. He is tied to the base of a pink cocktail umbrella. We all turn our heads to our Lord expectantly. He gives a simple nod. The match is struck and the pyre lit.

From Guest Contributor Skyler Bath

Cloudy Day

Nothing hurts like the pain in my chest or the ache in my head. Thoughts of my grandma’s last embrace grip me. I look up, expecting to see her face in the clouds, but all I see is rain. Perhaps, her tears appear as raindrops, and her face is only visible to angels. I was once her angel. She took with her my wings, the same ones that gave me the strength to fly above obstacles. I hold her umbrella above me, her scarf wrapped around my neck. Some say I inherited her kindness, the only inheritance that truly matters.

From Guest Contributor Ernestina Aggrey

Document

The rain pelts my face, the umbrella useless. I walk quickly, but not enough to draw attention. I must get to my destination and back before curfew.

The document I carry may save countless lives. If the Nazis stop me for a search, they’ll never find it.

“Do you have it?”

I place the umbrella down, dripping, release my shoe and pull the document from my heel, handing it to the contact.

“Good work,” he says and hands me a paper that I neatly place into the heel of my shoe.

I leave and make my way home before curfew.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Eve Before Halloween

The eve before Halloween I visit Melissa’s gravesite and place abouquet of yellow roses against her stone. She'd be thirty years oldtoday. The cemetery is empty, and the rain is cold against my face, butI am here.

“Hi, Sweetie. In honor of your favorite holiday, I’m having a Halloweenparty and celebrating your birthday tomorrow. I wish you could be here,”I say, tearing. I walk to my car briskly, the umbrella inside out fromthe wind.

The rain becomes heavy and when I drive off, the petals of the rosesblow in front of my car.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Chivalry

“How many years do you think we’ve known each other?” Zoey asked.

“I dunno, at least since pre-school. We’re both thirty now,” I replied. We walked the cobbled roads of Newburyport. The clouds looked like lines of poetry.

“You go first this time,” Zoey said.

“I like holding the door for you though.”

“Damn it, Tyreke. Why do you always hold the door, and hold the umbrella, and make me coffee? Women can do things you know.”

“I know that.”

“Do you feel you have to protect me, or be a man, or–––“

“I do them because I love you.”

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

A Phalanx Of Ducklings

A phalanx of cars had stopped along the highway. It was raining and I didn't want to get out, but I finally grabbed my umbrella. The smiling faces indicated no one had been injured.

I pushed my way through the crowd. What had stopped traffic wasn't some kind of accident or road construction, but a family of ducklings swimming in a puddle that had formed inside a pothole. They were really the cutest thing you'd ever seen. There was room enough to drive past, but everyone was happy to spend the afternoon watching them. Some of us fed them breadcrumbs.